TWO TO DIE FOR

by Allison Brennan

  “Come by and visit any afternoon, sweetheart.”

  #

  Max spent the rest of Monday and all Tuesday researching the history of Del Sol and going over the directory. She’d done a lot of the legwork before she came here, but there were a few facts that eluded her.

  The directories yielded nothing she could use, and the newsletters that Lois had were mostly bulletins—meetings, poker games, prayer groups, golf tournaments, menu changes and the like.

  Premiere Development had originally hired a management company to run the community, but for some reason that didn’t work out. Four years ago, they fired the company and hired an individual—Peter Markson—to run Del Sol day-to-day, but split off other functions to different entities. A private firm handled security, and the food was catered buy a company that specialized in high-end institutional cuisine.

  For some reason, the idea of “high-end” and “institutional” didn’t mesh in Max’s mind.

  Premiere had four other similar communities that they’d built up in the last twenty years and one they were in the process of creating, but Del Sol was their first and by far most successful—in terms of numbers and ratings. She could find no serious complaints against the company, and the only lawsuit was years ago by a contractor that had been decided in favor of Premiere.

  The current administrator, Peter Markson, had once managed one of the largest apartment communities in Miami and had a solid reputation, from everything Max could find on-line. Markson had been married for five years—it was his first marriage, though he was in his fifties. His wife Jennifer was a registered nurse, and the resident nurse for Del Sol. Jennifer was forty-one, more than ten years younger than her husband, and had a divorce on record—but Max couldn’t easily find anything about her first marriage, other than a wedding announcement of Jennifer Wesley marrying Dr. Christopher O’Neal nearly twenty years ago. She’d been twenty-two, and the announcement said she was a nurse at the same hospital where O’Neal was a surgeon.

  O’Neal had been substantially older than Jennifer. She definitely had a type, it seemed—much older men.

  “Two marriages doesn’t a type make,” Max muttered to herself.

  She had a type—in college she’d dated smart guys, usually majoring in business or economics. They were always attractive, from upper middle class families, and on the bland side. She didn’t want drama, and she much preferred to do what she wanted and not have anyone question her decisions. Even her high school boyfriend had ended up going into financial consulting and was currently writing a book about investing.

  Now? She’d dated five cops over the last six years. The relationships didn’t last; in fact, she probably wouldn’t even call any of her relationships dating, except for Marco. The only non-cop she’d been involved with was a prosecutor, also in the criminal justice field.

  Karen’s murder had certainly changed her. For the better? For worse? She’d probably never know. Max didn’t lie to herself—people had lied to her her entire life. She wasn’t going to make up stories to make herself feel better. She was a difficult person. Stubborn. Opinionated. Independent. She didn’t like anyone telling her what to do or how to do it, which is why she loved what she did. As an investigative reporter, she could write about cases she was interested in and ignore everything that didn’t appeal to her. It helped that she was independently wealthy so she could do exactly what she wanted. She didn’t have to make friends and she didn’t care if people liked her—as long as she got the truth. The truth ... that was something she was good at finding. People told her things either because they wanted her to go away or because they were trying to justify bad behavior. She craved the truth like an alcoholic craved the next drink.

  She knew why. She’d never lied to herself that her desire to find the truth stemmed directly from the fact she didn’t know who her father was, or that her mother had left her on her grandparents’ doorstep a month before her tenth birthday then disappeared, sending a periodic note until her last communication: a birthday card on Max’s sixteenth birthday.

  And that was the last Max had ever heard from her mother.

  She’d like to believe that she didn’t care, but she did. And she recognized that the reason she solved cold cases, the reason she dug around in other people’s lives like Peter and Jennifer Markson, was to find the truth for others when she couldn’t find the truth for herself.

  “Maxine?” Lois stood in the doorway of the small den that Max had taken over. “We should leave to meet with Nadine.”

  Max had almost forgotten that she’d asked Lois to set up a meeting with the community realtor.

  Max freshened up, then drove with Lois in her golf cart to a glorified strip mall adjacent to the main building. Max couldn’t tell what businesses were housed here, so asked Lois as they walked by.

  “That’s an insurance office—he comes in once a week. And the dentist here,” she gestured. “It’s handy to have someone close. And there is the copy and mailing service. They’re open every morning, six days a week. Very convenient, and during Christmas they help box up presents.”

  Nadine’s suite was at the end. She had her own secretary.

  “Hello, Margery,” Lois said—rather formally, Max thought. Margery … the gossip Lois had mentioned earlier?

  “Lois,” Margery said, just as formally with a side-order of snide. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “If you check Nadine’s schedule, you’ll see that I do.”

  Margery put on reading glasses and looked at her computer. She took her time clicking through whatever it was she was clicking through, and then nodded. “Please have a seat. I’ll tell Nadine you’re here.”

  Lois turned and rolled her eyes, but not before Margery saw. What was with that? Max wondered. Senior drama? It was just like junior high.

  Max had hated junior high. For that matter, she’d also hated high school.

  They didn’t have to wait long—drama or not. Nadine Delacruz came out of her office and welcomed Lois with a warm smile and hug.

  “Lois! It’s so good to see you!”

  Nadine had long, perfectly manicured, bright peach nails and a matching pedicure. She wore a white, form-fitting sundress and every accessory matched perfectly. But while Lois’s jewelry was worth a small fortune, Max recognized Nadine’s jewelry as fakes. Decent fakes, but still fake. Except for a gold and sapphire sorority ring. Beta Chi Zeta. Max knew her Greek letters, but she’d never heard of that sorority.

  “Coffee? Iced tea?”

  “No, thank you,” Lois said. “We don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

  “Nonsense! I always love to visit with my clients. And you’ll always be my client, Lois—just because you’re settled here doesn’t mean I’m not here for you if you ever need something.” She smiled at Max. “You must be Lois’s granddaughter. She told me all about you.”

  It took all of Max’s self-control not to take charge of the conversation, but that would be out of the character she was trying to maintain.

  “It’s been fun getting to know her,” Max said with a half smile.

  They sat down in Nadine’s spacious office. Nadine motioned for Lois and Max to sit on the white leather couch, then she pulled her desk chair around so she could sit directly across from them. She crossed her petite legs and smiled brightly. Flo was right. Everyone who worked at Del Sol was peppy.

  “Your grandmother tells me you may be moving to Florida. How wonderful! You’ll love it. I love it! I’m not native. I’m from North Carolina. But I came here for college and, well, I just never left!”

  Every other sentence was an exclamation. It was exhausting just listening to her.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “And what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m an art restorer.”

  “Wow. What exactly does an art restorer do?”

  “Right now, I’m focused on paintings that were damaged in transport from a New York museum for a s
pecial Los Angeles display—that’s where I live.”

  The best lies were always based on truths. When Max interned at a New York museum while in college, she’d briefly worked on paintings damaged in transport from England. She had little talent for the job. Fortunately, the director of the program saw that Max had other skills—a phenomenal memory and a deep knowledge of art history and switched her over to tours.

  “Fascinating,” Nadine said, eyes wide. Max thought it was a line, but she wasn’t one hundred percent certain. Nadine could be genuine—there were some people who were sincerely interested in everyone they came in contact with. “Do you have a job lined up here?”

  “No, but there are a couple museums in Miami I’ve been thinking of applying to. Being close to my grandmother would be an added bonus.”

  Nadine reached over to her desk and grabbed a folder. “If you want to fill this out, I can see what you might qualify for, then find a place that perfectly suits your needs.” She practically shoved the papers at Max.

  Max glanced at the contents. Nadine wanted to run a credit check on Max. If she knew Max was independently wealthy—to the point she had millions of dollars at her disposal, in addition to owning a multi-million-dollar apartment in New York and serving on the board of the family trust—she’d never had handed this to her.

  But Max hadn’t had time to create a financial profile for Maxine Adler. She handed Nadine back the folder. “I’m not ready yet,” she said, “I just wanted to know what might be available.”

  “I can help you better if I know what you’re looking for—and what you can afford. You understand.” She pushed the folder toward Max.

  Lois took it and kept it in her lap. “I would co-sign for Maxine. Artists don’t always make a lot of money early in their careers.”

  “I’m not an artist, Grandma,” Max said, the name grandma sounding so funny to her that she almost laughed. “I’m looking at running a gallery. I have a keen eye for art, not the talent to paint or draw or sculpt.”

  “Well,” Nadine said, obviously disappointed that Max wouldn’t share her private income and financial information, “I suppose I can show you some condos.”

  “Maybe later,” Max said. “I’ll be here for at least the next week. My boss wants me to look at a couple galleries while I’m here.” Lying, it seemed, came easier once she started.

  “What do you like?”

  “Something on the water,” Max said. That wasn’t a lie. Her penthouse apartment in Greenwich Village had a view of the Hudson River, and she’d always been drawn to water ... to the point she wondered if something had happened in her past that she couldn’t quite remember. Something good ... because a lot of bad had happened in her childhood, and she remembered quite a lot of it.

  Bad. That was certainly subjective. Some people might think she’d lived a charmed life with a mother who never sent her to school, who moved around from city to city and boyfriend to boyfriend, spending money wantonly and foolishly. Max had an ... unusual childhood. Bad? Depends on how one looked at it.

  “Well, beachfront in Miami can get pricey, but if you look farther north, you’ll find some quaint cottages and nice condos that may have a view.”

  Max wanted to tell this woman that she could afford to buy any Miami beachfront property she had for sale, but she didn’t. She didn’t know why she didn’t like Nadine ... she couldn’t put her finger on it. Marco constantly accused her of making rash judgments about people, that first impressions weren’t always accurate. Max disagreed. Her first impressions were almost always right on the money. Nadine? Three words came immediately to mind: greedy, needy, and sneaky.

  Instead, she smiled and thanked Nadine for the offer. She tried to be demure, but demure didn’t work well for her. “My grandmother said this community is a sixty plus?”

  “Yes, sixty-two and up. We wanted it to be for true retirees—though there are a few residents who work part-time. Margery, for example, had been a realtor for fifty years, and she’s been so helpful to me, I was happy to hire her part-time. She still has her license, so she helps review contracts and the like. Keeps me on my toes! And she brings in clients right and left ... I just love her.”

  “I was talking to Mrs. Riley yesterday, and she was trying to explain how the community worked, but I don’t think I understand. My grandmother pays far more than she does.”

  Nadine nodded. “Some of the earliest residents bought in at a much cheaper rate, and because they were willing to buy-in before the community was fully built, they had lower monthly fees when they did move in. But the key point is that Lois’s fees will never go up. They’re locked in ... even if she lives past a hundred!” She smiled brightly.

  “That’s interesting.”

  “It works out well, and helps those who are retired budget. Del Sol is a premiere community and more expensive than most, but we offer so much more than any other active living community.”

  “My grandmother certainly seems happy,” Max said and glanced at Lois, encouraging her to get involved in the conversation.

  “I am,” Lois said. “I love it here.” She sighed. “I miss Dotty.”

  Max winced. She hadn’t wanted Lois to go that far.

  “We all do,” Nadine said with sympathy. “Dotty referred you, didn’t she?”

  Lois nodded.

  “Referred?” Max questioned.

  “Yes. If one of our residents refers someone who buys into the community, they get three months free of fees. Isn’t that wonderful?” Nadine turned to Lois. “You need to get on that, Lois. Though you bought your house, you would still get monthly fees for activities and meals completely free!”

  “Bought your house?” Max frowned, not quite understanding.

  “The apartments in the main building are leases, but the houses are purchased—well, sort of. They are bought outright for the life of the resident.”

  “What if someone dies? Do they get their money back? Or sell the property?”

  “Noooo,” Nadine said slowly. “It’s part of the contract. But in general, the price of the house is the equivalent of seven to ten years of leasing, and most of our residents live far longer than ten years once they move here. In fact, our average life span is higher than the state average.”

  Max made a mental note to check the statistics. There could be many reasons for this, if that were true, including the fact that most of the people who lived at Del Sol came from middle class and upper middle class backgrounds. But facts were important, and Max needed everything if she was going to learn the truth. Even facts that didn’t fit into her theory.

  “It’s truly the best place I could have retired to,” Lois said. “Nadine knows how much I love it here.”

  “I do,” Nadine said with a wide smile. “And, Maxine, when you’re ready, just call me and I’ll make time for you. Ninety percent of my business is Del Sol—and helping residents who are moving here sell their current homes. But I know the area.”

  “That’s nice of you.” Of course, Max thought, she wanted the commission. If she gave a little now, over and above, then Nadine figured either Max would return when she was ready to buy, or Lois would appreciate it and refer more people to Del Sol.

  Max stood. She had more research to do, and she wanted to jump on it. In fact, she planned on conducting several interviews tomorrow, and she needed to lay the groundwork by calling in a favor.

  Or blackmail. Whichever worked.

  Chapter Six

  Max jumped on her cell phone Wednesday morning when she saw the number with a Miami area code.

  “This is Maxine Revere,” she said.

  “You have two minutes,” Carlo Romero said.

  “Hello to you, too, sweetheart.” She grinned, she couldn’t help herself. She knew the seasoned reporter better than he knew himself. Of course he would return her call.

  “Don’t even,” he said, his voice a growl.

  “You hold the longest grudges,” Max said, keeping her voice light. The trut
h was Carlo had hurt her far more than she’d ever hurt him—professionally. So what that she knew how better to retaliate? He’d deserved it.

  “You’re a bitch.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Good-bye.”

  “Don’t hang up,” she said, her voice turning from butter to ice. “You know better.”

  “You’re going to pull that card?”

  “Anytime I need it.”

  Carlo had burned one of Max’s sources when she was investigating Karen’s disappearance six years ago. Max hadn’t been a reporter back then, but she understood the business. She’d trusted Carlo—her first mistake—and he’d cut her down quick. Max’s source ended up being suspended and, of course, blamed Max. It was ultimately her fault because she should have never trusted Carlo with the information.

  Six years ago, when she was a twenty-two-year-old college student, she needed him. He was the crime reporter for the local paper. She’d had to get the information out there to save other unsuspecting college girls from a killer. She didn’t know if the article Carlo ran had helped, but she’d had no other choice. She liked to think she saved someone from making the same mistake as Karen.

  Only, she hadn’t expected Carlo to burn her cop friend which, ultimately, had made Max persona non grata with Miami PD. After Carlo betrayed her, she’d cut him out of the entire investigation. By that time, she’d had an in with the FBI, and she parlayed that into an interview which she used to sell the exclusive on Karen’s murder and the manhunt for her killer. Right out from under Carlo’s nose.

  She hadn’t cared about the by-line ... but no way was she could to roll over and let Carlo destroy her. So she took it, and then some.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “I’m working undercover, and no, I’m not going to tell you where or why because I will never trust you again. I need you to call your friend at the magazine, Fifty-Five Plus, and vouch for me—tell them I’m the greatest reporter since Woodward and Bernstein if you have to, that I’m investigating something related to elder abuse and need them to vouch for me.”